“But straight goods?”
“No, siree! Not for me! A bit of ranching and 39 my work here in the shop keeps me busy enough. In fact, I’ve been thinking lately that I would like to give up this strenuous labour in the smithy.”
Ben Todd was about to pursue the subject further when they were interrupted by the approach of a horse, which pulled up abruptly at the front door. A beautiful, full-blooded mare, of tremendous proportions, reared high in the air, then dropped to a stand-still as docile as a lamb.
Mayor Brenchfield, groomed to perfection in leggings and riding breeches, slid to the ground, thrust his reins through a hitching ring and stepped inside, thus providing the third side of an interesting triangle for conversation.
They had been talking for some fifteen minutes, when the conversation veered to the subject that had been uppermost in everyone’s mind in the neighbourhood of Vernock for many weeks past.
“I see the Assizes have got through with their work at last,” put in Ben Todd.
Brenchfield’s eyebrows moved slightly.
“Yes?”
“Loo Yick, the chink, is to hang.”
“You bet,––the yellow skunk! Imagine a fine girl like Lottie Mays being done to death by that; and every man that ever saw her just crazy for her.”